There's a passion in his voice.
Beautiful 
Like the blood of a martyr
Hideous 
As the rising sun
Strong
As the forces of hell.
Oh I feel it radiate from his skin
At the distance I stand.
It screams from his eyes
Like a blazing wild fire.
He breathes it in 
As the only thing he thrives on,
The only thing he trusts 
To keep his heart beating.
And as I see it
It makes me weep
As I shake my head in forced denial.
For I see what he does not:
His only hope is killing him slowly,
His faith in what he feels,
Eating him alive.